


A Glimpse

by sara_merry99



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_merry99/pseuds/sara_merry99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris looked over Vin's shoulder toward the barn and Vin could see the flames, burning low in his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The book Chris reads, and quotes from, is the 1867 version of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. The two poems he quotes are "A Glimpse" and "When I Heard At The Close Of The Day", both from the cluster of poems called Calamus. The 1867 Calamus cluster can be found online here: http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=Whi67LG.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=5&division=div2
> 
> Author's Notes: Many thanks to Catyah and arouette for wonderful, ongoing support and inspiration. farad helped me, and this story, in ways uncountable, from inspiration, to editing, to counseling me through a neurotic break that would have ended with the story forever unfinished. sassyinkpen helped with a final polishing job.

# A Glimpse

_"A glimpse through an interstice caught..." -- Walt Whitman, "A Glimpse"_

"Chris, it's Vin," Vin called out softly after knocking on the door of Chris's room. It was late at night, very late, and he had no desire to face a gun if Chris woke suddenly and badly.

He wouldn't have bothered Chris if it wasn't an emergency, Vin insisted to himself. Would never have knocked on his door well after midnight if there hadn't been a real need. Chris'd retired early, looking tired and ragged and with some sadness in his eyes that Vin didn't normally see, even in the usually haunted man. Something different from, maybe worse than, what he always carried around with him. Vin wished he could have respected that.

Wished it even more when Chris opened the door without ever looking at Vin. He was in his undershirt, fastening his pants as he made way for Vin to come in. Vin looked over Chris's shoulder and, in the light of a lantern turned low, saw a bottle of whiskey, half drunk, and a small thin book, open on the bedside table. He'd never seen a book that looked quite like that before, with the words bunched up in the middle of the page and lots of empty space all around. Seemed like a waste of paper to him. 

"What?" Chris asked, drawing Vin's gaze to him. 

Vin noticed a cloud in Chris's eyes and tightness around his mouth that spoke of a man who'd been lost in deep thoughts. He wished he could leave Chris to them. Vin's eyes flicked to the book for a split second, then he looked back to Chris. Feeling like he was intruding on something private, he said, "Jesse Brower just rode in. A bunch of men came to their ranch. Says they were threatening to start a fire." 

Chris walked across the room and grabbed his shirt off the wash stand. "His parents?" he asked, pulling it on.

Vin shook his head. "He don't know. He snuck out the back and rode off for help." 

Buttoning his shirt, Chris said, "Who's available?"

"You, me, Buck, and Ezra," Vin said. "Josiah and JD are with those cowboys we have in the jail and Nathan's sitting with Miz Freedman." 

Earlier in the day a group of cowboys had come into town whooping and hollering, firing their pistols into the air before the peacekeepers could jail the most troublesome of them and send the rest running for the hills. As they restored order, they found Mrs. Freedman collapsed in a faint in the general store, a bullet lodged in her arm. Not too bad a wound, Vin'd been hurt worse more times than he could count, but still frightening for a lady who'd come through slavery and the Civil War with some bad memories. Frightening for anyone, maybe.

"Jesse say how many?" 

"At least five, he says. May have been more he didn't see," Vin said, as Chris unbuttoned his pants so he could tuck in his shirt, the white of his drawers stark against his black clothes. The sight made Vin cast his eyes to the floor and hold them there, despite the flush of heat he felt.

"We need Nathan, too," Chris said, and Vin looked up at him. As he buckled his gunbelt, Chris looked back across at the bedside table and said, "See if you can wake Mary to sit with Mrs. Freedman, have her send him on. We'll go ahead."

Vin nodded. "Buck and Ezra are saddling the horses. They'll be out front when you're ready." 

"Five minutes," Chris said, turning away, and Vin slipped out, closing the door behind him. Whatever was in that book, whatever Chris'd been thinking when Vin came in he was sorry he'd seen it. Or, at least, he was sorry Chris knew he'd seen it.

***

Chris was true to his word, meeting them all outside the boarding house at the same time Vin got back from talking to Mary. Buck was standing with Jesse Brower, just thirteen years old and scared as pale as moonlight.

"I'm going with you," Jesse said as they approached, his voice shaking but determined.

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but Buck held up his hand. "We were counting on you to take care of something here in town, son," he said. The normality of his voice impressed Vin. He wasn't talking down to the boy, just stating a fact. 

Jesse looked at him, skepticism warring with relief in his brown eyes. "Don't tell me you need me to watch over the town. I ain't a little kid can be fooled like that." 

Buck shook his head. "No. We need you to go to the jailhouse and tell JD and Josiah that we're leaving them in charge. One of them ought to keep an eye on the streets, so you'll need to stay and help the other mind the prisoners. That's a two person job." 

Jesse's eyes narrowed as he considered the merit of the mission, then he nodded. He said, "Okay," and without further comment ran down the street toward the jailhouse. 

He'd barely passed the end of the building when they were all mounted and riding out, hard toward the Brower ranch. 

***

They were still a half-mile away from the Browers' ranch when they saw the glow of a fire lighting up a column of smoke that rose into the sky. Chris didn't say a word, just spurred Pony into a gallop so fast that the others had trouble keeping up, even Vin, who'd have sworn that Peso was the fastest of their horses, except maybe JD's high-bred bay. 

Behind him he could hear Buck swearing, but Vin pushed as hard as he could to keep up with Chris. 

The barn was completely consumed in flames when they rode up and Vin could hear the horses inside screaming as the fire took them. He wished he could close his ears to the sound, which seemed to bite right through him, reminding him of another time and place.

He put the noise out of his mind and followed Chris to the house which was starting to burn as well, dry wood giving itself too easily to flame. It was only one side of the house burning, the side toward the barn, but already too much to try and put out with just the two of them, or even the four of them when Buck and Ezra arrived. He couldn't hear over the roar of the fire, but didn't imagine they could be more than a minute behind. 

While Vin was still taking stock of the situation, Chris dismounted and ran into the building without hesitation. 

"Jesus, Chris," Vin shouted, swinging down as quickly as he could. Smoke was filling the house and the flames were spreading, the whole right side of the house now roaring with fire. He couldn't see through the smoke but feared that Chris had run into the fire, just as they'd watched Cletus Fowler do. Vin hoped that, unlike Fowler, Chris had run into the fire in an attempt to save lives, not end one. 

"Chris!!" Vin shouted, looking for a clear path through the flames, but there was no answer. No way to hear one over the din of the fire anyway. 

He thought he saw something, someone moving, dark and vague, hidden by smoke and hellfire. He steeled himself to run forward, to help. He'd barely taken a step when the roof half collapsed, blocking off that side of the house entirely. "Chris!!" he shouted again. And again. Until the smoke biting his lungs was too much and he started to cough. And still he stood there looking into the flames, trying to see beyond the broken roof to where he'd seen something, someone, Chris, walking through the fire.

Someone who was going to die.

He was still looking, eyes streaming tears from loss and heat and smoke, when his arm was grabbed from behind. He whirled around to see Buck standing there. "Mrs. Brower's outside, any sign of the mister?" he shouted, practically into Vin's ear. 

Vin shook his head, looking back over his shoulder toward the devastation.

"Where's Chris?" Buck asked, his face pale and sweating, following Vin's gaze. "Oh, God," he said, and choked.

Vin thought he heard a scream from deep in the heart of the fire, thought it could have been from his own heart which felt numb with cold despite the blazing heat, when there was movement from the bedroom that caught his eye. He and Buck turned to see Chris staggering out from the shadows of smoke and fire. Chris took two steps, then doubled over with coughs and fell to his knees. 

Vin didn't allow himself the pleasure of relief, he just ran to Chris, Buck at his side. Each of them pulled one of Chris's arms over their shoulders and together they hauled him out, half-walking, half-struggling, into the cold night air. 

Outside, Ezra was holding Mrs. Brower as she struggled toward the flames consuming her home, hands clawing at the arm wrapped around her waist as she tried to get free. Vin's stomach dropped as he realized the form he'd seen walking around before the roof collapsed, heard screaming, must have been Mr. Brower. 

Vin and Buck walked past them, ignoring Mrs. Brower's shouted demands that they go back and find her husband and sat Chris down on the back of the Browers' wagon. Vin caught Ezra's questioning eye and shook his head slightly. Ezra nodded. 

Chris slumped on the wagon and coughed for a few moments before he could draw a decent breath. His breaths rattled in his lungs, rasping past smoke and irritation, but at least he could breathe again. Vin's knees threatened to give out from under him in relief when Chris finally drew a deep breath, coughed for a spell, then looked around, taking stock of his surroundings.

Before Vin could speak, before he could even think of anything to say, Buck spoke up, "Chris? You okay there, old pard?"

Chris blinked, wiping his eyes with a hand so grimy it only made the tearing worse. His voice was almost inaudible when he asked, "Browers?" 

"Mrs. Brower's a little singed, we'll have Nate look over her when he gets here," Buck said, subtly moving so that Chris couldn't see her, still struggling to go into the fire. 

"Mr. Brower?" Chris asked.

At that moment there was a crash and a roar as the rest of the roof collapsed and the entire house was engulfed in flames. Mrs. Brower screamed, "Noooo, John!" Vin turned to look and saw Ezra turn her so he could cradle her head against his shoulder and catch her sobs. His face, lit by the fire, was horrorstruck and more sympathetic than Vin'd ever seen. 

Chris blanched and he crumpled forward, supporting his head in his hands. Slowly, his hands curled into fists, white knuckled and vibrating with emotion.

Vin offered the only kind of comfort he knew Chris would accept. "We'll find who did this, Chris. We'll find them and we'll make sure they hang." He wished he could offer more, but he didn't know what kind of comfort to offer other than vengeance. And that was cold comfort at best.

***

The fire was still burning when Chris lifted his head from his hands. His cheeks were grimed with streaks of soot and ash, but there was no sign of tear tracks. Vin's heart ached for Chris, ached that he was holding onto his pain, but it would carry him through finding Mr. Brower's killer. They'd deal with after when it came. 

Chris stood and turned toward Mrs. Brower, still sobbing in Ezra's arms. He took two steps in that direction, striding as though toward a fight, but Buck stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Why don't you let ol' Buck talk to her?" 

Chris stopped and gestured toward the lady curtly. "Suit yourself. Find out how many and any descriptions she can give."

Buck sauntered away, while Vin stood with Chris and watched. Voices kept low, he helped Ezra lead the lady to the wagon, where Chris had just been sitting and lifted her onto it gently. Mrs. Brower was passive at first, allowing everything, until she was seated, then she seemed to gain some strength and lifted her head. Vin was glad to see some signs of returning spirit in the new widow, she was going to need all the strength she could muster if Jesse and her were going to make it.

Chris turned to him, and said, "As soon as there's light I want you to start tracking them." 

"Plannin' on it," Vin said, quietly. "We will find who did this, Chris." 

Chris nodded and pressed his lips together and Vin was about to risk reaching to put a hand on his shoulder, when Nathan rode up hard and fast. He pulled up in front of Chris and Vin, and said, "Looks bad. Anyone hurt?" 

Vin waited for a second for Chris to speak, but when he was silent, said, "Mr. Brower's dead in the fire. I saw him in the house just before the roof collapsed. Mrs. Brower's just a little singed round the edges. Not bad hurt." 

Nathan swallowed hard and then dismounted. "I brought some liniments and salves for burns. You boys okay?" 

Vin nodded and held out his hands, sooty but unburned, for Nathan to look at. Nathan nodded and looked at Chris who just stood there, unmoving. After a moment he said, "Okay, I'll take care of Mrs. Brower then." 

Chris stopped him as he walked away and said, "Tell her at least her boy's safe." 

When Nathan joined the group at the wagon, Buck separated himself from it and walked back to them. "They just rode in and started smashing things. When Mr. Brower grabbed his shotgun, they lit torches and started the barn burning. She says there were five of them, kept their faces covered. She didn't notice the horses except that one had high stockings on all four feet and a white face." 

Vin didn't realize that he'd tensed when Buck spoke, until Chris said, "What?", in his smoke-rough voice. 

Shaking his head, Vin said, "Nothin'. Know of a man rode a horse like that, is all. Hired gunman from up Nebraska way. Got a bad reputation and hefty price on his head for murdering some sheep ranchers a few years back." 

Chris grunted. "Lots of horses with high stockings. Ain't likely the same man." 

Vin nodded, but kept the thought in his mind anyway. Luke McMasters didn't hire for cheap. If he was in on this, someone was paying good money to drive the Browers off their land.

Buck looked at Chris with sympathetic eyes. "At least a couple of them were shouting to each other in Spanish."

Chris turned at that and his eyes narrowed. "Did any of them speak English?" 

Buck nodded. "Yeah, one of them called John Brower a land thief. Said he was going to claim his ranch and his herd for the rightful owner." 

"Didn't say who that was?" 

Buck shook his head. "Not that she heard. Around then, Mr. Brower grabbed the shotgun and all hell broke loose." 

Chris thought for a second, lips pursed. "Sounds like someone's hiring talent from Purgatory. May have to check that out."

"I'll see if I can find anything in the land records about who might claim this land," Buck said. "Might be this is the only property they're after."

Vin turned to look at the house, the fire now burning low. "Don't think so. Think this is the start not the finish," he said, and walked toward the house, hoping that in the light from the fire he might be able to start making sense of the tracks. 

***

_"Of a youth who loves me and whom I love, silently approaching and  
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand..." -- Walt Whitman, "A Glimpse"_

Vin and Chris were following the trail of the killers before the sun was fully up the next morning, the trail clear enough to follow even in the grey light of dawn. The five men'd ridden away to the east, following first the worn road. 

Vin stopped at a junction with a narrow track about a half mile from the farm and searched the ground, finding new tracks. "Someone met them here, all rode off together this way." 

Chris nodded but didn't say a word, just gestured for Vin to lead. He hadn't spoken since they rode away from the remains of the Brower's house, leaving Nathan to search the ruins for Mr. Brower's body and Ezra and Buck to escort the widow to town. 

Vin tried to think of words that might help ease Chris a little, ease his mind, ease his pain, but nothing would come to him, so they rode on in a silence that was only made more apparent by the occasional punctuation of Vin's comments on the trail they followed. 

A little after noon, Vin pulled up near a big old oak tree and said, "We should eat something. Rest the horses for a bit." 

"Ain't hungry," Chris said, and Vin knew it was true. Chris was being eaten from the inside by anger, and didn't want the solace of food. Still needed it though, whether he liked it or not. 

Vin dismounted, ignoring the snarl on Chris's face. "Still should eat. Don't do no good to find 'em if we're too weak to do anything about it when we do." He ground tied Peso and went on, "Horses'll be glad for a break too." 

Chris grunted and dismounted without a word of agreement.

Vin took a deep drink from his canteen, the water warm and tinny but still refreshing. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a trail in the dust there, he offered it to Chris. Chris stared at it a second, then slowly took the canteen, moving like he'd had too much of Nathan's laudanum or something. Vin kept his worries to himself and rummaged around in his saddlebag for hardtack and jerky. Offering it to Chris he said, "This ain't real new, but I don't guess hardtack ever goes bad." When Chris took it, he went on, "Jerky's decent though. Venison." 

Feeling like he was tempting a wild animal, Vin walked toward the tree waiting after each step to make sure Chris was following him. When he sat down, Chris scowled at him and Vin was afraid he'd mount up and ride off alone, even though he didn't know where he was going. 

After a few minutes, Chris sat down, moving stiffly. Vin took the canteen from his hand, Chris holding onto it reflexively for a moment until he realized what he was doing then passing it over. As they sat, chewing the jerky and stale hardtack, Vin said, "It ain't your fault, Chris." 

Chris went so still next to him that Vin might have thought he'd been carved of wood or stone except for the sound of his hard swallows. Vin moved a little closer to him, so their shoulders were just brushing, and was pleased when Chris didn't move away. After a few minutes, Chris said, "No. I wasn't thinking that." He fell silent again and Vin waited, willing to wait as long as Chris wanted him to. After a while, Chris said, "It's the smell. Brings back memories." 

Vin's heart twisted in his chest at the thought of Chris hurting so. He knew the smells Chris was referring to, charred wood and burnt flesh, had his own haunting memories they called up. He leaned back against the tree, staring straight out across the grass toward Mexico. He thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah. I reckon I know about that smell." He paused, swallowing his own losses. After a few minutes he said, "I lived for a few years with the Comanche, traveled with them. When the Army came to round us up, the warriors fought back. So the soldiers burned everything, lodges, stored food, equipment. A lot of people died in that fire." He rinsed out his mouth with water, spitting the mouthful onto the grass next to him. "Couldn't eat cooked meat for a while after." 

Chris looked from the jerky in his hand to Vin, then said in a softly strangled voice, "So how'd you get past it?" 

Vin shrugged. "Focused on the good things, I guess. The women singing when we came back from a hunt. Sleeping under a buffalo hide in the winter. The smell of the lodges, all leather and pine and tobacco smoke." He looked to Chris, who was gazing at him with deep sadness in his eyes. Vin took another drink from the canteen, more to have a reason to look away from Chris than because he was thirsty. After a bit he said, "You must have good memories. What brings those back for you?" 

Chris turned to look at him for just a second then smiled a little and said, "The smell of apples. She made the best apple pies, all tart and sweet inside, with a golden crust. She'd pour cream over each slice and the juices would run out and mix with the it. Adam called them 'umple pies'." He smiled softly and repeated, "Umple pie. She'd cut the slices big so it was like a meal all by itself. We just about lived on them when we could get apples." 

"Trying to fatten you up?" Vin asked, getting lost in the picture Chris was drawing.

Chris chuckled, sounding lighter than he had for a couple of days, "Nah. That and chicken and dumplings were the only things she could cook. And she'd only make the dumplings on Sundays. Other six days of the week, we had more lousy dinners of over-salted biscuits and tough meat. Sometimes we'd make a meal of the apple pie cause the stew'd been ruined or the beans burnt." He chuckled again, soft and sweet. "Now that's a smell for you, burnt beans can stink up the whole house for days. Gets right into the wood. We spent a night sleeping under the stars when Adam was about two because the house smelled too bad to stay in." 

Vin laughed. "Hell, I could burn you some beans, Chris," he said, "make you feel right at home." He froze, afraid he'd overstepped his bounds, wondering how to take the words back without causing pain.

His worries eased, when Chris chuckled again and said, "Might take you up on that someday, pard." 

They sat together for a while longer without talking. Nothing else needed to be said, Vin reckoned, and neither of them were men to fill up empty spaces with empty words. The silence was comfortable between them, easy, but there seemed to be something precious in it. More than just comfort, though Vin wasn't sure he knew the word. He just relaxed and let himself enjoy it. He hoped Chris was finding as much in it as he was.

Some twenty minutes later, Chris stood and extended his hand to Vin, looking down at him with a small smile on his face. When Vin let himself get pulled to his feet, Chris held his arm for a second, then said, "Thanks, Vin." His eyes met Vin's and held there and Vin felt the same shiver over his skin he'd felt the first time they looked at each other. 

Ducking his head, Vin thought of a hundred things he wanted to say, but didn't think Chris wanted to hear any of them. So he just said, "We'd best get back on the trail. Be nice to know where they went to ground and still get back to town by sunset." 

***

An hour or so later, Vin stood up from where he'd been examining the trail. Chris was sitting on his horse, looking calm to a casual glance. Maybe only a couple of men other than Vin could have seen the tension in his body, Buck for sure and maybe Josiah, who saw more than he ever let on. As he mounted, Vin said, "Four of 'em rode off that way." He pointed down the narrow track. "Don't go nowhere before it gets to Purgatorio. Other two went to the east."

Chris thought for a second, shifting his hat back then forward again on his head. "Ain't much that way."

"Just the Royal ranch between here and Eagle Bend," Vin agreed. 

"Guy Royal," Chris said, voice hard. "What would he want with the Brower's place?" 

Vin shook his head. "Don't know. But John Brower weren't no cattle rustler or land thief. I'd put money on that." 

Chris nodded, but said nothing. 

Vin looked at the sun, still high in the sky, though past its peak, then back at Chris. "We could follow their trail. Make sure they ain't going no place else." As he spoke he was sharply aware that he was just angling for more of Chris's company. Chris'd seemed better after their lunch, less tore up, but even in the blackest of his moods Vin wanted to be near him like he wanted nothing else. 

Chris just nodded and they rode off through the brush. The trail became harder to follow as soon as they broke away from the main track and Vin spent more time walking than riding. "They were doing their best to cover their trail," he said, then smiled broadly, and went on, "they just weren't no good at it." 

Chris smiled in response. "Didn't know they were going to have an Indian tracker after them," he said.

An hour later they were on the bluff overlooking Guy Royal's ranch. There was the usual amount of activity, men coming and going, horses tied up at the rails outside. Guy Royal was nowhere to be seen, though his burly foreman was there talking to a group of men, apparently giving instructions. 

Vin spotted a horse being led toward the stables and passed the spyglass to Chris. "That chestnut there's got four high white stockings and a white face," he said, the words snapped out in his flare of anger. Damn Guy Royal for being involved in whatever this was.

Chris grunted. "Ain't proof," he said, but his eyes narrowed and Vin could see that he was considering the new situation. 

Vin nodded. "No. But it's a hint." He lifted the glass again, hoping to spot something that would give them a sign as to what Royal might be up to. 

After a minute or two watching, Chris tapped his shoulder and backed cautiously away from the crest of the hill. When they were safe from being seen, Chris stood and said, "Let's get back to town." 

***

They trotted into town and were met by Buck and JD outside the jailhouse. Buck'd stood as soon as he saw their horses and Vin smiled to himself, knowing that Buck had been fretting over them, over Chris, while they'd been gone. They'd barely dismounted before Buck was there at the edge of the boardwalk saying, "What'd you find?" 

Chris said nothing right away, he just stalked into the jailhouse, spurs jangling and clanking on the boards. The rest of them followed him in like a herd of mustangs trailing after the lead horse. Chris stood with his back to the bars of the jail cells and Vin thought that the hard iron bars hardly looked more rigid and unyielding than Chris did at that moment. Like all the ease of their lunch had disappeared into air and dust.

Chris said, "Guy Royal is hiring men from Purgatorio. It was them that burned out the Browers last night."

"Royal?" Buck asked, taking off his hat and running a hand over his head. "What's he want with a piddly little spread like the Browers'?" 

Chris shook his head. "I can't figure it out. What about you? Land deeds tell you anything?" 

Buck opened his mouth, but it was JD who said, "Mr. Brower's deed to the land seems real clear. Mrs. Travis says it hasn't been challenged as long as she's been in town and she can't see any reason why anyone would claim it." 

Vin sat down on the corner of the desk and said, "Ain't looking for just anyone else, now. We know we're looking at Guy Royal. He wouldn't pay good money for gunmen if he didn't have some reason to." 

Chris pushed himself away from the bars he was leaning on and Vin, catching a good look at his lined face, remembered that neither of them'd gotten a lick of sleep the night before. Suddenly he was tired to the bone and wished he could drag himself to his bed. 

Instead he pulled himself up, straightened, and turned to Buck. "How's Mrs. Brower? Jesse?" 

Buck lifted a shoulder in a shrug that was almost as expressive as his sad face. "Not bad hurt, but dyin' inside all the same. They're staying with Mary while they sort out what to do. She's being real good to them, having been there herself." 

While Buck spoke, Vin kept his eye on Chris, watching as his eyes and mouth got tight and hard. But his voice was almost normal when he said, "Buck, see if you can find out anything about her husband's dealings with Guy Royal." 

Buck nodded and walked out, JD trailing after him. 

Outside, the sun was setting, the red light shining in through the windows of the jailhouse. Chris turned to Vin and said, "We'll decide where to go from here in the morning."

Something about that didn't sit right with Vin, but it took a hand on the butt of his hogleg for him to realize what it was. He stood up. "Think I'll ride out to Miss Nettie's tonight. Her spread's only a few miles from Brower's." 

Vin walked toward the door, Chris at his back, but before he could step out into the street, Chris stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When Vin looked back at him, Chris said, "Watch your back. Send Casey if there's trouble." 

Vin nodded, touched by Chris's concern, and said, "I will. First sign of it." 

***

Vin arrived at Nettie's just before full dark settled. She came out to greet him as he tied Peso to the rail. "I was wondering if you'd show up today, son," she said.

He cast his gaze over her shoulder, away from her too sharp eyes. "You heard?" he asked.

"Casey saw the house, what's left of it, when she rode out to check on some new calves this morning," she said. "You planning on staying?" Her tone was warm, indulgent.

"Yes, ma'am. Don't want you to have no trouble tonight," Vin said. "If you don't mind, that is." 

She shook her head and pulled her Spenser carbine out from behind her skirt, showing it to him. Vin smiled, pleased that she'd been prepared for the worst. "You're always welcome here, but I don't know as I need you."

Vin loosened Peso's girth and took his Winchester out of the long holster on the saddle. If there was trouble he'd want it and his hogleg both. "John Brower's shotgun didn't stop them. Your carbine may not either."

She snorted. "And your sawed-off's going to make the difference?" She held out her hand for Vin's rifle, saying, "If you're staying the night, see to your horse." 

"Might need to get a message back to town, best to keep him ready to ride," Vin said, turning to look at the gathering darkness. 

Casey stepped out of the house, wiping her hands on a cloth. "I can ride bareback. Tend to Peso. It ain't right to leave him saddled up all night." 

With a resigned smile, Vin handed Nettie the rifle. "I'll be along in a minute. Got some questions for you while we're waiting." 

Inside, Vin found his rifle propped against the wall by the door, ready to hand. Nettie's carbine was in its usual place on pegs right above it. He touched it briefly, making sure his hands would know where to find it if the time came, then turned to find Nettie looking at him, head tilting. "You look like you need coffee. Long day?" 

Vin crossed the room and leaned against the wall next to the stove and watched her fill the coffee pot with pungent grounds and water from a bucket. "Better make it strong, ma'am, I didn't get no sleep last night." 

She turned to him with a look on her face like she was going to say something sharp, then she shook her head and said, "You want to sleep for a spell before I make this? You can use the bed," she waved to the back room of the house, "or roll out your blankets. I don't much care." 

Vin pushed himself away from the wall and hooked his thumbs in his belt, forcing the exhaustion he could feel in every part of his body away. "I'm fine, ma'am. Just need some coffee." 

Nettie's eyes flashed as she snapped, "Don't you lie to me. You look like you been rode hard and put up wet." Her voice softened and she went on, "The sun just went down and ain't no one going to come around for a few hours anyway. I'll wake you at moonrise." 

Vin smiled at her, but shook his head. "Maybe in a bit, ma'am. I got some questions for you."

"Well ask then," she said, setting the filled coffee pot on the corner of the kitchen table. 

Vin considered moving it to the stove, but decided against. Nettie didn't seem like she'd take kindly to that. He settled into one of the rough chairs at the table, leaving the fine antique for Nettie, and asked, "You had any dealings with Guy Royal lately?" He felt a little strange just asking the question, knowing how Nettie and Royal felt about each other. 

"Guy Royal?" Nettie sat down with a grateful smile and perched ladylike on the edge of the seat. She thought for a second then said, "Two, no, three weeks ago he came by here," she said, "offered to buy some of my land." 

Vin turned sharply to look at her. "Any trouble?"

She smiled at him. "No trouble. He was polite enough, though I could tell it was near killing him." She eased back into the chair and looked at Vin with a blaze in her eyes, "Offered me pennies an acre for it." 

"Less than it's worth?" Vin asked.

She tapped her chin, then said, "Well, it ain't real easy to say for sure. He was making noise about how the land's no damned good, which got my dander up a bit." A puzzled look crossed her brow. "Fact is, though, he's right about that. Mountain's rocky and too steep for cattle. I suppose I could put some goats on it, but I never did like goats. Can't keep 'em from eating the wash on the line." 

"Did you sell?" Vin asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, sure of her answer but wanting to hear it just the same. 

She barked a laugh, and said, "No. I can't figure out any use for it, but I sure don't want the likes of Guy Royal in my back yard. And if he's offering me ten cents an acre, you can bet he thinks it's worth a dollar. Must be a reason why." 

Vin thought for a second, then said, "You ain't got a mountain on your property, Miss Nettie." 

She pointed to the back of the house, "Pinwheel Mountain. My spread includes about fifty acres of it." 

"Pinwheel Mountain?" Vin asked, with a chuckle. He'd seen the hill Nettie was referring to. It was definitely steep and rocky, but no one in his right mind would call it a mountain. 

Nettie smiled at him, then looked over where Casey was spinning horsehair for rope with a fond look. "That's what Casey called it when she was just a little thing." 

Casey looked up at the sound of her name and said, "That's what Mr. Brower told me to call it." Her voice seemed a little defensive.

"Brower?" Vin asked, calling up a picture of the area in his head. The hill rose sharply out of the desert, but around it there were rolling hills and good grassland running between the mountains, stretching past Guy Royal's place miles to the east almost all the way to Eagle Bend. "Brower owned some of that hill too?" 

Nettie nodded. "John Brower and Conn Greene have the most of it. I just have the lower slope on this side. My husband bought it near twenty years ago. Thought there was silver in it." She shook her head. "Durned fool," she said affectionately and a warm smile softened her face. 

Vin smiled with her, finding comfort in the affection she still showed for her long dead husband. He wondered what that must be like, to love someone even beyond the grave. To be loved. He wondered if Nettie'd been angry when her husband died, filled with pain like Chris was. He almost hoped she had been, because it would give him hope that someday all of Chris's pain would burn away and leave something sweet and peaceful behind. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Nettie swatting his arm. "This ain't the time for gathering flies. I'm sending Casey round to Conn's place." 

Vin pictured Conn Greene, thin and worried and henpecked by his wife, and he shook his head, saying, "No." Casey stopped at the door, her hat in her hand. "Go to town. Tell one of the others about the hill and about Conn Green, then come on back. May need you here." 

Casey smiled at him and Vin could see clearly why JD sometimes spent the day moping around like a moonstruck fool over her. She did have a bright, sweet smile.

"I'll be as quick as I can," she said, then slipped out. 

Vin stood and moved to put the coffee pot on the stove, but Nettie stepped into his way. "That what we needed to talk about?" Vin nodded. "Then lay your head down and rest, son." She pointed toward the shadowed bedroom. When Vin hesitated, she said, "You ain't gonna be no damn use to me if you can't keep your eyes open. Sleep for a couple of hours. If I hear anything sooner, I'll wake you." 

Vin shook his head slowly, but when he opened his mouth to say he was fine, Nettie just said, "Go", in a stern voice. 

"Yes, ma'am," Vin said and picked up his bedroll before going into the bedroom. 

As he walked through the doorway, he heard her say affectionately, "Durned fool." 

***

The smell of coffee and fresh biscuits called him awake some time later. He pulled on his boots and walked out into the sitting room, buckling his gunbelt as he walked. 

Without turning around, Nettie said, "I was going to get you in a minute. Casey's back and I've got some food for you. You didn't look like you'd eaten any more recently than you'd slept." 

Vin leaned over to buckle the thigh-strap on his holster and said, "I appreciate that, ma'am. I had some food on the trail today, but it was a long time ago now and it weren't much." 

She set a basket full of biscuits on the table, and Vin could see the steam rising off of them. "Got fresh biscuits for you and butter and honey." Vin walked toward the stove, drawn by the smell of the coffee, but she said, "Sit down. Biscuits are best hot. I'll bring you coffee." 

Vin smiled and settled gratefully at the table. Casey came in when Nettie was handing him his coffee and sat down in the chair across from him. The meal was comfortable and homespun, nothing fancy about it. Nettie and Casey talked about plans to help Mrs. Brower and Jesse rebuild their ranch and Vin listened while he ate, taking it all in. He wondered if dinner with his ma and grandpa mightn't have been just like that, warm and easy. Comfortable as a full belly. He thought it might have been, and held the moment in his heart, as he would have a memory of his own mother.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a noise out of place. He held up his hand and Nettie and Casey quieted instantly. "Horses, more than one," he said, rising to his feet. Casey was already walking toward the door when he turned to her, and said, "Find Chris. Tell him it sounds like five horses. Ride hard." 

She nodded, lips thin, dark eyes huge and worried, and slipped out the door. A few moments later he heard her riding away. 

Vin turned to Nettie. "Might be best if they don't know I'm here right at first. I'm going to the barn so's I can surprise them." 

"If I have to shoot, I'll be aiming in that direction. You make sure I'm not shooting at you," she said, handing him his rifle.

"Just don't aim for the roof," Vin said and trotted across the dark yard, sticking to the shadows even though the approaching riders were still a ways off. 

He looked at the barn roof as he passed, trying to find a good spot. The moon had nearly set and the light of it was faint. He was glad of that since aside from the deeper darkness cast across one corner of the barn by the old oak tree, there wasn't going to be a lick of cover up there. He swore softly to himself as he found a ladder and propped it against the wall in the shadow around the corner. 

He looked into the barn and saw Peso dozing quietly, nose to nose with Nettie's buckskin, loose straw at their feet. Loose straw and dry wood. He was hit by the memory of the horses at the Browers screaming as the barn burned, woven through his memory with the sound of Long Braid and the other women keening in the lodges. He took a moment to move the horses out to the corral, just in case. If things got bad and the barn was burning, he figured he'd be able to get away, but the horses would be trapped by their own fear. 

Even with that delay, Vin reached the roof a few minutes before the men rode into Nettie's yard. He was surprised that they took so long to arrive and he wondered if one of Royal's men had stayed behind, out of sight around a turning of the trail, like when they went after the Browers. 

Five men rode into the yard at a hard trot, spurs jangling, and started shouting as soon as they were in sight of the house. None of the men appeared to notice him hunkered down up there and he was damned grateful for that at least. He'd be okay until he took his first shot anyway. The leader rode the high-stockinged chestnut they'd seen at Guy Royal's, or its twin, and four other men ranged themselves out around the yard, spacing themselves out from the corner of the corral to the far corner of the barn. Vin cursed. It was going to be hard to keep an eye on all of them spread out like that. 

For the first time in his life that he could remember, he wished he had someone else at his side. Wished he had Chris there, if he was honest with himself. Make this fight go a whole lot smoother if he only had to cover half of them. He shook the thought out of his head. No use wishing for things that weren't. He'd handled worse scrapes on his own, and hell, he reminded himself, Miss Nettie weren't no slouch anyhow. 

Nettie stood on her porch, her carbine resting in the crook of one arm, right ready to raise and fire. She didn't say anything, but waited for the men to speak, and Vin smiled. 

The man on the chestnut, said, "You got five minutes to vacate this house and this property." 

Nettie laughed, though Vin could hear the tension in her voice as she said, "You boys got a hell of a nerve riding in like that. Get off my land!" She gestured with the carbine. 

"This ain't your land and the rightful owner wants you off," the man said. He turned to one of the waiting men and Vin caught sight of his profile in the darkness. Luke McMasters. Guy Royal wanted this land bad then. Man didn't do nothing for less than five dollars a day, but for the right price he'd do anything at all. Vin tightened, then eased, his grip on his rifle, relaxing the tension in his hands. 

Nettie raised her gun to her shoulder, aiming at the man standing nearest McMasters. "I got the deed to prove that this land is mine. Now get, or I'll start shooting." 

McMasters made a gesture with his hand, like a chopping motion, while Nettie was still talking and the other four men suddenly burst into action. The man standing by the corral opened the gate and started whooping, scaring the oxen and horses out into the night. Nettie shifted her aim to him, but even as she did so the one at the corner of the house started shooting out the windows, hollering and shouting in Spanish and carrying on. 

Vin stood and fired into the dirt next to McMasters' big chestnut horse, which didn't flinch, and a surprised silence descended over the yard. Vin stayed in the shadows, but shouted, "Be best if you boys ride on out of here." The silence continued after he spoke for half a heartbeat, then McMasters and one of the others whirled in his direction and started firing. Vin dropped to the roof, laying flat and taking advantage of what little cover it could give him. 

While the men were shooting at him, Nettie fired at the man at the corral but her shot went wide, maybe on purpose. The gunfire sparked something in the men, though, and their whoops and laughter got louder as the five men raced around in the darkness smashing and breaking whatever they could get their hands on. The man near the house walked onto the porch, bold as brass, picking up each piece of furniture and smashing it on the railing until it broke. When he got close to Nettie, hands outstretched as if he was going to give her the same treatment, Vin shot him in the chest, watching as he fell back into the shards of the window he'd broken. 

Nettie turned and ran toward the other end of the porch, and Vin lost sight of her in the shadows cast when McMasters and two of the other men lit torches. The light flickered and jumped like an evil dance, dazzling Vin's eyes which were used to the soft moonlight. He fired at one of the torch carriers, satisfied to see the torch fall to the ground and smolder there, though there was no sign of a body next to it. 

Stopping that one man didn't stop the fire though, and he saw McMasters hurl his torch into a hay pile next to the barn. Looking away from the danger to himself, he had a minute before he had to act on that, Vin saw the third torch heading toward the house. Bad enough for Nettie to lose her barn, but her house held all of her memories, all of her things. He fired at the man while he was still several feet away, shooting him in the leg, then in the chest. The torch landed on the man as he fell, but he was dead from the shot to his heart and probably never knew the fire. Vin hoped not anyway. 

More shots were fired in his direction and Vin pulled back away from the edge. He needed to get to cover. He could smell smoke now, see the first wavering signs of the fire as it licked at the far end of the barn. He tried to get to the ladder, but as soon as he approached the edge of the roof McMasters fired at him. Couldn't stay where he was, but he couldn't leave that way either. 

He heard the sound of a rifle shot, Miss Nettie he reckoned, since he'd only seen pistols among the attackers. Glad to hear it, glad to know that she was still fighting, Vin stood and ran up the roof to get to the back of it, which was still untouched by the fire. A bullet hit the wood shingles at his feet, and he turned but couldn't get a clear shot through the smoke. 

He stepped over the ridgeline, and the smoke must have parted as he did so because he heard a gunshot and felt a hot searing pain in his left shoulder that made him lose his footing and slide down the roof for several feet. He was afraid he'd go right over the edge but he managed to stop his slide with his feet and his good arm, without losing his grip on his rifle even. 

He slid carefully the rest of the way down the roof, then considered the best way to get to the ground. The fire, which had started at the far end of the barn, had devoured the corner and was spreading fast, fueled by dry wood and straw and dust, and he could feel the heat of it now. The flames jumped and danced and the roar was deafening. He could barely make out the sounds of the gunfight on the other side of the barn, the shouts of the remaining attackers drowned in the deep hum of the blaze, gunshots mingling with the pops and creaks of the flames bursting through the roof by his feet. Jesus. 

There wasn't any time for considering, so he just jumped, rifle in hand.

He almost blacked out from the pain in his shoulder when he hit the ground rolling, but the sound of gunfire, clearer now that he wasn't so close to the fire, kept him in the moment and he scrambled to his feet. His shoulder hurt like the devil and his right knee didn't want to hold his weight, but he pushed all of that aside and went toward Nettie's house. The barn was mostly in flames now and Vin limped for the only other cover he could find, Nettie's buckboard.

While he was getting there, McMasters fired twice in the direction of the road, then shouted something to his remaining men in Spanish. There was a response, then one of the men stepped out from behind the cover of the porch, supporting another. They mounted their horses as two more riders came in, galloping hard. 

Vin recognized one of them as Chris almost instantly, even in the horrible firelight and writhing shadows. Chris fired at McMasters, Vin saw the bullet hit his leg, but it didn't stop the man from shouting "Vamanos" and leading his men out across the desert, away from the road. 

Vin slid to the ground, leaning against the wagon wheel, and dropped his head to his knees. He knew he should find out if Nettie was okay, start putting things to rights, maybe go find Peso. No time now to rest, not until he knew where things stood.

He struggled to his feet, leaning against the wagon to keep the weight off his knee, and took stock. The barn was almost completely devoured in flames. Chris stood next to Pony and stared at the fire. Vin couldn't see his face from where he stood, but even from this distance he could see that he was wrapped in pain, his back so straight and tight he looked like a bowstring ready to snap. Casey's horse was tied to the porch railing, the hitching posts having been broken to bits, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Vin stepped away from the buckboard, supporting himself with his rifle. His eyes were locked on Chris, who just looked into the fire like he was seeking a vision in it. He'd made it about half the way across the yard, when Casey burst out of the house, shouting, "Vin!" and ran toward him. 

Chris whirled at her cry, hand dropping to his gun briefly before he froze. Vin's eyes met Chris's and held, Chris's filled with pain and worry. Vin nodded to tell Chris he was okay, though he wasn't really, not at that particular moment, but Chris would find all that out soon enough. He'd managed another step, not taking his eyes off Chris who seemed frozen in place, when Casey wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. 

The pain speared through him, from his shoulder out to his fingertips, then back to run all through his back. He stiffened and clenched his teeth to hold in a cry of pain and stopped in his tracks. She backed away, from him, looking scared and hurt. He tilted his head at her and said, "It's okay. Just got a few..."

He never got to finish what he was saying, because suddenly Chris was there in front of him. Vin hadn't seen or heard him move, he was just there, one hand on Vin's chest to stop him from trying to walk, the other hovering over the gunshot. Not touching, but close enough that Vin could feel the healing warmth of his hand. 

"It ain't bad. Least I don't think so," Vin said, trying to sound confident despite the pain. 

Chris made a noise like a growl and turned to Casey. "Need hot water and some clean cloths. Think you can find that?" 

Casey nodded. "House ain't bad inside. Do you need help bringing him in?" 

"I can help if he needs it, child," Nettie said from behind Vin. "Go get that water heated." 

Vin twisted to see her, anxious to know if she was hurt, but that was more than his knee could take and he staggered forward, toward Chris. Chris caught him and held him up with an arm around his waist, managing to keep him from falling without adding to the pain in shoulder or knee. 

Vin gave a small smile of thanks, then turned to Nettie, now standing next to him. "You're okay, ma'am? They didn't hurt you none?" he asked.

Her hair was a mess and her face smeared with dirt, but she smiled at him warmly. "I'm fine. I found a good position behind the woodpile and kept that one in the big sombrero from throwing a torch into my sitting room." She tilted her head and looked at him with a glitter in her eye. "You look like hell, son. Saw you get hit in the shoulder." Her eyes flicked to the bloody hole in his coat, then down to his knee. "What wrong with your leg? You get shot there too?" She put her hand on his rifle, tugging it out of his hand when he resisted letting it go for a second. With Chris helping to support him, he didn't need it as a crutch and, after she'd taken it, he realized he was glad not to have to deal with it. 

Turning toward the house, Vin said, "No, ma'am. I wrenched it a little when I came off the barn roof is all." He tried to walk at a normal pace toward the house, toward the comfortable chairs in the kitchen, but when he put weight on his knee it gave under him and he swore reflexively at the pain, "God damn that hurts." Nettie laughed and Vin stammered, "Pardon my language." 

She shook her head and said, "Hell, I ain't offended by a little strong language." She turned to Chris. "You gonna be able to get him inside okay, Mr. Larabee? I got a liniment that might do him some good, but I need to warm it up some." 

Chris nodded, firming his grip on Vin's waist, and said, "We'll be fine. But he needs a place to sit down." His voice was rough and strained, in another man Vin might have called it scared. The concern in it was nice, Vin reckoned, but he didn't like being talked about like he wasn't there. 

Indignant, Vin said, "I'm fine. It ain't but a scratch in my shoulder and my knee..." He pushed away from Chris, balancing his weight and taking a lurching step. The shock of it sent a wave of pain through his arm, but at least his knee held his weight.

Nettie turned back around, hand raised and mouth open, but she never got a chance to speak because Chris snapped out, "Jesus Christ, Tanner, just shut the hell up and let me do this." Nettie smiled in approval and hurried toward the house as Chris closed the small distance between them.

When Chris put his arm around Vin's waist, Vin resisted it for another couple of steps, refusing the help, until he looked at Chris's face, his eyes so soft and wounded looking, lips pressed together like he was keeping some hurt deep inside. Damn. Vin stopped and leaned against Chris's shoulder, accepting the support for a moment, then said, "No memories tonight, cowboy. No one got hurt in that fire." 

Chris looked over Vin's shoulder toward the barn and Vin could see the flames, burning low in his eyes. He pursed his lips for a second, then said, "I was sure you were in the barn, Vin. Sure I'd find your body in the ashes." 

Vin put his hand on Chris's shoulder, offering silent comfort, unsure what to say. He wanted to assure Chris that he wouldn't do that to him, that he'd do everything in his power to avoid Chris ever having to find him burnt up the way he'd found Sarah and Adam. But Chris'd never given him that sort of place in his life, and Vin felt like he'd be intruding, presuming more than had ever been offered to him, to think Chris'd want that kind of sentiment from him. To think Chris would care like that.

Chris looked away from the fire, and touched Vin's face, gently, almost tenderly, and so briefly that Vin thought it might have been one of the night breezes if not for the warmth of his fingers. Vin looked up at him and Chris's face softened as he took some of Vin's weight off his knee, carefully supporting him. "Come on, let's get you inside. You look like you're about to fall over." Somehow the way he said it, the words were as tender a caress as the touch of his hand had been. 

***

Vin sighed in relief when he settled onto a chair. Casey set a crockery bowl of hot water on the table next to a pile of clean cloths, then turned to Chris. "You want me to ride into town for Nathan, Mr. Larabee?" 

Chris caught Vin's eye and a question in the angle of his head and the lift of his eyebrow. Vin moved his arm a little, checking his grip and the swing of it. It hurt, no denying that though he tried to keep the grunts of pain inside, but he didn't feel anything broken. He shook his head no. Chris narrowed his eyes then said to Casey, "Hold off a minute. Let me see what we've got here." 

Casey looked away as Chris gently and carefully eased Vin's coat off, lifting it over the wound on his shoulder so that it wouldn't tug or pull there. He moved like he was going to rip open the shirt, fingers on either side of the hole in it, but Vin said, "I like this shirt, don't tear it up if you don't got to." 

Chris scowled and made a noise but raised it up so he could get a peek at the wound. Whatever he saw, it took a lot of the fear out of his eyes. Wasn't so bad then, Vin reckoned. 

While Nettie bustled around gathering a needle and thread, whiskey, and other supplies Casey'd forgotten, Chris propped himself against the table and said to Vin, "You reckon they're going to be heading back to Guy Royal's?" 

Vin nodded, cradling his arm against his chest to find a position that didn't hurt so bad. "I expect it'll be like last night. The Mexicans will head back to Purgatorio and Luke McMasters will ride back to Royal's ranch. Probably meet someone up on the way."

Tilting his head, Chris asked, "Luke McMasters?"

"The one you shot, on the chestnut," Vin said. "He's from up Nebraska way. Gun for hire don't quite cover it, because he'll do anything he's paid to if he's paid enough. Got a bounty on him in Nebraska and in Texas. Worth about $600 all told, if I remember right." 

Chris smiled and shook his head. "Bet you do. Think with a show of force we could get him away from Royal?" 

Vin considered for a moment, then said, "It's worth trying. Worked on him last time."

Chris's smile became a grin and he turned to Casey, who was waiting by the door looking at them like they'd plum gone out of their minds. "Get everyone. Including Buck from over at Conn Greene's place. Tell them we move at first light." 

Casey ducked her head then slipped out through the door. A few seconds later he heard her horse trotting away. 

Watching her go, Nettie said, "Girl's gonna get dizzy going to town and back so many times tonight." 

Her words triggered a thought in Vin and he asked, "How'd you get here so fast, cowboy? Casey didn't have time to get half-way to town before she was back here with you." He turned to look at Chris, who was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, and giving the task far more of his attention than usual. 

Sleeves rolled up, Chris set to work on Vin's buttons without meeting his eyes. After a moment, he said, "Met her on the road." 

Vin looked over Chris's shoulder toward Nettie's mantlepiece, which held a photograph of a well-made man in a dark coat. Mr. Welles he reckoned, though he'd never been so forward as to ask. He asked, "Coming out to check up on us?" 

Chris was silent while he worked, then, when the last of the shirt buttons was undone, he said, "Had a bad feeling." Before Vin could react to the words, before he was even sure he'd heard them, Chris said, "I can't see any way to get this shirt off you without it hurting, Vin." 

"Just do what you've got to do," Vin said. "It ain't too bad." He wasn't exactly lying he told himself. He'd been wounded worse plenty of times. This just hurt like a son of a bitch. He clenched his teeth and braced himself for whatever Chris was planning to do.

The pain flared in a searing jolt when Chris lifted his arms so he could pull off his shirt and undershirt, but Vin managed to get through it without a noise. Chris's hand on his back, warm against his bare skin, soothed the pain more than Vin would ever have thought possible and he took a breath, easing his tight hold against the throbbing. 

"Well, hell, that don't look too bad, son," Nettie said, leaning over his shoulder from the back. "You'll be right as rain in no time." 

The sound of her voice surprised Vin and he jumped, embarrassed to realize that he'd forgotten about her in the fullness of Chris's presence. Her blue eyes squinted a little, then she said, "If you boys are riding out of here at first light, you're going to need your horse." She picked up her hat and took a couple of coils of rope from a chest near the door. She stopped before she went out and said, "Liniment's warming on the stove, Mr. Larabee. Put it on his knee then wrap it up real good." Before either of them could say anything, she stepped out, closing the door firmly behind her. 

Wetting a cloth in the bowl, Chris said, "Doesn't seem like the type to be shy of a man's bare chest. Wonder why she left." Vin didn't have an answer to that so he did his best to relax while Chris swabbed his shoulder. When the wound was clear Chris dropped the bloody cloth into an empty bowl and said, "Bullet's still in there." Vin winced, but before his horror at the thought of surgery could fully form, Chris went on, "Right near the skin. Won't take but this...," his fingers brushed over sensitized skin, then there was a brief and shocking twist of pain that sent Vin's senses spinning toward nauseous blackness.

When they'd settled, again, Chris was washing his hands in the clean water from the basin, the bullet lying on the table next to it. "Want me to stitch you up or do you want to wait for Nathan?" Chris asked. 

Vin knew that he'd rather have Chris's hands on him than anyone's, knew he'd always feel comforted by them, but he also knew he couldn't say that. Shouldn't even be feeling it. He licked his lips, then said, "Might as well get it done, let the hurting pass before we have to ride out in the morning."

Chris breathed a sigh, and Vin chanced a glance in his direction. He looked almost relieved at Vin's decision, which Vin didn't understand. Chris rested a hand on Vin's good shoulder for a second, then turned and poured a stiff shot of whiskey. "Drink that, it'll take the edge off." 

Vin nodded and drank, missing the feel of Chris's hand on him. When he'd drunk he passed the mug back to Chris, and said, "Thanks for coming out to check on us. Don't guess things would have gone near so well if you hadn't ridden in when you did." 

Chris choked a little then moved around to stand in front of Vin. He leaned forward and put one hand on Vin's good shoulder, the other behind his neck, gripping firmly like he was afraid Vin would disappear. Which didn't make sense to Vin, because he never felt more real or more solid than when Chris was near him, touching him. Chris looked like he was going to say something for a moment, then he bent and rested his forehead against Vin's. Vin basked in the unexpected warmth for the split-second it lasted, drinking it in even though he had no idea what it meant, then Chris rocked back to look into Vin's eyes. "Don't like the idea of you fighting alone, Vin. Whatever comes, I'll be at your side." 

Vin blinked, licked his lips to buy himself some time to respond, then said, "Ain't no one I'd rather have there." He hoped his words meant as much to Chris as Chris's had to him. Hoped they meant as much as the mountains and the air and the fresh running streams, every precious thing on Earth. 

A soft smile settled on Chris's face and he pulled his hands away from Vin almost tenderly, then he backed away. He turned to the table, arranging the needle and thread. Fussing Vin would have called it if it were someone else doing it. When he turned back, his face was composed, almost stern, and he asked, "You need more whiskey or are you ready?"

Vin took a deep breath, settling his emotions back down, and said, "Ready as I'll ever be, I reckon. Do it." 

After his shoulder was stitched, mercifully only a few minutes of pulling, stinging pain that wasn't near as bad as removing his shirt had been, Vin leaned back in the chair breathing hard while Chris poured whiskey on the wound and bandaged him up. When that was done Chris looked down at Vin's leg, and said, "Let's see what you did to your knee." 

Supported by Chris, Vin removed his gunbelt and opened his trousers, keeping his eyes cast down as he slid them off. Chris eased him back down and pushed the leg of his drawers up over his knee. It was starting to swell a little, but there was no bruising and when Chris prodded at it there was no sign of anything having been torn up. Vin breathed a sigh of relief that was echoed by Chris, then said, "Nettie's liniment should feel right nice."

It did feel nice, the warmth seeping into the sore sinews and muscles and easing up the hurts there, though there was more healing in Chris's hands than any amount of medicine. Vin was grateful, almost, for being hurt because of what it was bringing him of Chris, a tenderness he'd only ever seen glimpses of before. A tenderness he wanted more of. The wanting shamed him, and the thought that Chris might have seen it, might know about it, shamed him even more. So when Chris finished tying the bandage around his knee, Vin twisted away from his hands as much as he could and said, "Thanks, cowboy. I'd best get dressed before Nettie gets back. Don't want to upset her." 

Chris's brow wrinkled and his lips pursed, but he did as Vin asked without a word, helping him dress as gently as he'd taken care of his wounds. 

Vin was buttoning his shirt when they heard hooves in the yard. Chris went to the window then turned back to Vin and said, "Nettie. With Peso and another horse." 

Vin walked over to where Chris stood, his bound knee still sore, but accepting his weight now. He put his hand on Chris's back, and said, "I meant it when I said there wasn't no one I wanted at my side more'n you, Chris." 

Chris nodded, and without turning away from the window he said softly, "There we two, content, happy in being together..." Vin wasn't sure if Chris was speaking to him or not. His voice trailed away and he turned away from the window and gave Vin a vague smile, but before he could say anything, Nettie's footsteps sounded on the wooden porch and Chris stepped away toward the door to greet her.

***

_"...amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and oath and smutty jest..." -- Walt Whitman, "A Glimpse"_

The others rode in just as pre-dawn was lightening the eastern sky, Vin heard the hoofbeats and Peso's greeting from the corral. But he didn't move, not right away. He just sat at the table drinking coffee and trying to shake the last mud of sleep from his mind. Chris and Nettie had insisted on him going to bed after Chris'd finished his doctoring, Chris staring at him silently with deep eyes, Nettie pushing and scolding. As he'd figured, waking was proving hard, fatigue and hurt and whiskey-fumes keeping his thoughts slow and thick. 

He was on his second cup of Nettie's coffee when Nathan strode in, eyes going straight to Vin, who ducked his head. "Casey said you got shot," he said, without preamble.

Vin nodded, then said without thinking, "I'm fine. Chris fixed me up."

Nathan slapped his hand on the table next to Vin and said, loudly, "I ain't a doctor, Vin, but I got more medicine than Chris does." Vin nodded in agreement, trying to calm the other man down, but Nathan went on, "Let me take a look at it, see if you're up to this ride today."

Vin was about to protest, when Nathan stopped him saying, "If I tell Miss Nettie you ain't up to riding, you know you won't be going nowhere. I'll do just that if you don't let me look and see for myself that Chris didn't sew the bullet in there or some fool thing." 

"Ah, hell, Nate," Vin said, but then, looking at the tight line of Nathan's lips he subsided. 

Nathan removed Vin's shirt and the big bandage Chris had made. He looked from all angles, then said, "Looks pretty good." As he spoke he took up the whiskey bottle and poured some on all of a sudden, surprising Vin with a burn of pain that made him swear.

"Damn, what was that for? You said it looked good," Vin said, sopping up some of the whiskey with the bandage Nate'd removed. 

Nathan grinned. "Just makin' sure. Heard someone say that keeps the infection down." He took cotton batting and a roll of cloth out of his bag and started tying up the wound again.

His words were ones that Vin had heard before, but the way he said them, like there was a big joke inside, made Vin suspicious. "Bet you just wanted to hear me yell," he grumbled.

Nathan's grin got wider for just a second then he got serious again. "Anything else?" 

Vin was prepared to deny that he'd hurt his knee, just to get Nathan out of there, but Chris walked in the door at that moment and gave him a long look so Vin said, "Wrenched my knee a little when I jumped off the barn roof." Nathan gave him a stern look and Vin went on, quickly, "I ain't bleedin' and nothing's broke so I ain't takin' my britches off. It's fine." He crossed his arms over his chest, prepared to hold that line forever, no matter what Nathan tried to do to get him to budge. 

Unexpectedly, Chris came to his assistance. "Nothing was torn, Nate, just a little swollen," Chris said, his voice calm and assured. 

"Don't know why I bother with you people," Nathan said, shaking his head as he packed his supplies back into his bag.

He was interrupted from going on by Buck, who clomped into the room with a nod at Nettie, who was cooking up some bacon at the stove. Buck pushed his hat back and said to Chris, "We gonna get out of here or what? I'd like to get to the Royal Ranch before lunchtime." He looked down at Vin, who was taking another drink of coffee. "You don't look so bad there, Vin. From the way Casey was talkin' I'd've thought Chris here had to take your arm off or something."

Vin kept his head down and said, "I'm fine," for what felt like the hundredth time. The worst part of being hurt or sick was being fussed over, he reckoned. Though he'd liked it just fine when it was Chris tending to him, he remembered, wrinkling his brow at the thought. Still and all, once all this was over maybe he'd spend a few days out in the desert, give himself a chance to heal up in peace. 

"Well then let's do this thing," Buck said. Vin nodded at him in thanks as he went on, "Do we have a plan?"

"I can't come up with anything better than just to ride in and demand to talk Royal," Chris said, setting his coffee mug down on the table. 

"If I might point out, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said, "we have no evidence against Guy Royal. What will we be speaking with him about?" 

Chris's smile was full of grim determination when he said, "We don't have evidence against Royal, but we have plenty against Luke McMasters. If we can convince him that McMasters is a liability, he'll hand him over right quick." 

Ezra smiled and nodded. "I think I like this plan," he said with a broad grin.

It was Josiah who shook his head and said, "And if they start shooting at us?"

"We shoot back," Chris said, and his smile turned into a confident grin. Vin looked at him for a long moment as Chris stood there hands on his hips proud and confident. Looked until he felt like he was leaning towards Chris trying to get closer, then he dropped his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. His knee twinged a little but he figured he'd be able to get on his horse without having to face any more questions about how he was doing. 

As he walked to the door, Nettie picked up a basket with one hand and handed Vin a biscuit sandwiched around two nice strips of bacon with the other. "Got breakfast for all of you boys," she said, handing another biscuit to Buck who smiled and tipped his hat. 

Vin took advantage of the distraction she provided to get on his horse before anyone could suggest that he ought to stay behind. 

While the others were still taking their breakfasts and mounting their horses, they all heard hoof beats out on the road, galloping hard. Vin tucked his sandwich into his coat pocket and dropped his hand to his Winchester by his knee. Next to him, Chris tucked his coat behind his holster, so he'd have an easy draw of his pistol. Josiah rested his long Smith and Wesson on his thigh, right ready, but not threatening. 

Buck, standing next to his grey, turned to Nettie and said, "Mrs. Welles, you'd best get inside. We'll take care of this."

While he was still speaking she snorted in disbelief, then went into the house, reappearing a moment later with her carbine over her shoulder. "I've never hidden from a fight in my life, Mr. Wilmington, and I ain't about to start now." She pulled the door closed behind her, then said, "Where's Casey? She safe in town?"

Hiding a big smile, Buck swung himself into his saddle then said, "Yes, ma'am. Mary Travis asked if she'd mind sitting up with Mrs. Brower and Jesse for part of the night. Kept her from riding back here again."

Nettie nodded and said, "I owe her a thank you for that. Casey didn't need to be making that ride one more time." 

If she'd been going to say anything else, it was cut off when a single man on a red paint rode in fast and apparently heedless of who or what he might encounter. He pulled up hard, almost pulling his horse into a rear, when he saw who all was waiting for him in the light of the dying barn fire. 

Nettie stepped off the porch to stand in front of the seven mounted men, and said, "Conn Greene? Got a problem?"

He reached to tip his hat, giving an almost comical look of surprise when he found that he wasn't wearing one. Wasn't wearing a coat either. Something was bad wrong to have him riding out helter-skelter in just his shirtsleeves. He shook his head, then said, "No. Yes. I need to talk," his eyes roved along the line of men, "to Mr. Wilmington." 

Vin pulled his sandwich back out of his pocket. If it was going to be talking, then he might as well get his breakfast eaten. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Josiah had the same thought, pulling his own sandwich out of some hidden pocket of his big coat. 

"You didn't have any interest in talking to me last night, Mr. Greene," Buck said, sounding a little bitter. "What's so all fired important that you've got to talk about it now?" 

Greene looked along the line of men again then swallowed hard. "You asked about dealings with Guy Royal last night," he said. When Buck nodded he went on, "He came...no, I went to him about three weeks ago."

"You went to him?" Nettie asked

Greene looked to her, nodded, then turned his eyes back to Buck. "I sold him silver." 

"Silver?" Buck asked, confused. "Like a tea service?"

Greene shook his head. "No. A nugget. A big one." He held his hands up a good four inches apart. 

Vin whistled, impressed. He'd heard that silver nuggets were sometimes big like that, but he'd never known anyone who'd actually had one in his hands. 

"Where'd you get something like that?" Buck asked, clearly confused. 

Greene reached up like he was going to adjust his hat, and wound out running his hand over his balding scalp instead. "Kansas City. A few years back I rode with the herd all the way there." Nettie nodded as he was speaking. "Sold 'em for a lot of money and put some of it into that big nugget."

"Why?" Nettie's voice was sharp. "Coins ain't good enough for you?" Vin finished his bacon sandwich and wiped his fingers on his legs, watching Conn Greene carefully. Something wasn't right about the man, or about his story. 

"Seemed safer to carry. I wrapped it up in an old shirt and hid it in my gear. Coins make noise, even in a saddlebag," he said, fidgeting in the saddle until his horse sidestepped under him.

Suddenly, at the other end of the line Ezra snapped his fingers and barked out a laugh. "Why, Mr. Greene, I am impressed." He laughed again, then sobered completely and went on, "It was an excellent idea, though your execution was faulty. In future, I advise you to think through the likely consequences of your actions when you're running a deal like this." Vin turned to stare at Ezra, as they all did, and Ezra smiled again, his gold tooth catching the firelight like a spark. "Mr. Greene here sold the nugget to Guy Royal along with his portion of the mountain," he gestured toward the dark bulk of the hill behind Nettie's house. "With the implication that he had found the silver on the property." 

Nettie gasped and whirled back to Greene. "Conn? Is that true?" she asked, her voice shocked.

Greene rubbed his head again and nodded. "I didn't think he'd go so far. I needed the money, but I didn't mean for any of this... I just wanted..." 

"John Brower is dead, Conn," Nettie said, her voice pained and angry. "And Martha and Jesse don't have any place to live. Neither would Casey and me if Vin hadn't been here." 

"I'm sorry, Nettie," he said, looking toward her, hands spread, like he thought words could make everything right. "I didn't know."

"You should have," Chris said in that low dangerous voice of his. "Ain't no big secret 'round here what kind of man Guy Royal is. You just didn't want to think about what he'd do."

Greene turned to Chris, blanched and turned away without arguing with him. He said again, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." 

Nettie looked like she was about to puke, her face drawing up into a tightly pinched scowl for a second before she said, fury shaking her voice, "Martha and me helped Rebecca on her childbed. Two hard births we saw her through to give you two beautiful children. John shared feed with you when the drought came. You think being sorry makes anything you've done right?"

"Nettie, please," Greene began, but he looked at her face, all of their faces and something in them either embarrassed or shamed him, because without another word, Greene crumpled forward in his saddle, hands covering his face as his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Nettie turned on her heel and went back into the house. 

As they rode out of Nettie's yard, each of the seven filed past Greene, still slumped on his horse, at a slow walk. Josiah stopped and said something to him that Vin couldn't hear and Greene raised his head for a second then nodded, still looking horrified at what he'd done. When Vin rode past he spit onto the ground at Greene's horse's feet, resisting the urge to just haul back and flatten the little man. 

Vin broke into a gallop as soon as he passed Greene, passing the others. After a few moments he heard them all fall in behind him, and he pulled Peso back a bit, slowing to an easier lope. He looked over his shoulder to see Conn Greene still sitting slumped on his horse, unmoving, just before they rounded the hill and left him out of sight.

***

Still angry, both at the danger to Nettie and Casey and at the treachery of Conn Greene against people who had been friends and neighbors to him for a long time, Vin wasn't in any mood for subtlety or deception with Guy Royal. So he was glad that when they arrived at his ranch, they just rode straight in, all seven of them, without pausing for the man who tried to stop them. He had to scramble to get out of their way, his hat falling into the dirt at their feet.

It was early, the sun still behind the mountains, and when Guy Royal walked out of his big house toward them, he had a towel around his neck and was wiping shaving cream off his neck. "What can I do for you boys?" he asked, looking over the group of them until he got to Chris and his eyes lingered there. 

"We want Luke McMasters," Chris said, and his voice left no room for questions or negotiation. 

Royal turned to Chris, a fake smile on his face. "Why?" His foreman and a small group of ranch hands took up places around and behind him, backing up their boss.

Heedless of the men, Vin kicked Peso into a skittering trot that brought him right up into Royal's face, and said, "Murder, arson, attempted murder. That do?" 

Royal backed a couple of steps away and said, "I had no idea. I hired him to handle some business negotiations for me." 

"Buying Pinwheel Mountain," Chris said. Vin was grateful for him cutting to the point like that, because his patience wasn't up to another long-winded conversation like they'd had with Greene. 

Royal nodded. His voice went honeyed and falsely sweet, like a man offering gifts with a gun hid behind his back, and he said, "I didn't tell him to kill anyone or burn their houses down." 

On edge, Vin nudged Peso forward again. He couldn't shoot Royal, not without any cause, but there was nothing said he couldn't kick his lying teeth in, but Chris held up his hand and Vin sat back, soothing Peso and himself with a pat to the animal's neck. 

"We're taking him in so the judge can hang him, Royal," Chris said. "You handing him over easy or hard?" As he spoke, he dropped his hand to his side, pushing back his coat to show his pistol. Without making an overt move, all the other seven shifted their stance to make it easier to draw their weapons.

On the ground, Royal's foreman and men did the same, but there were uncomfortable looks among them. The foreman stepped forward and said something in Royal's ear. Royal scowled and waved him back, then, with a last slow look over the men arrayed against him, said, "I don't want people round here saying that I sheltered a murderer..."

Behind Vin, JD said, "Again," drawing bitter laughs from Vin and Josiah.

Royal ignored them and repeated, "I don't want people saying I sheltered a murderer. We'll bring him out for you." He gestured to his foreman, who made a disgusted face but turned toward the house.

As he did so, though, the front door burst open and Luke McMasters, wearing nothing but his union suit, bloody at the thigh where he was wounded, came out, a pistol in his hand. "You goddamned double-dealing bastard," he yelled, then raised his gun and fired at Guy Royal. 

The shot went wild, hitting the foreman who was just a few feet away on the house's porch. He stumbled, hand to his side, and fell through the window into the house. Royal ducked behind Chris on his horse, before popping out to take a shot, using Chris and Pony as cover. Damn him anyway for drawing the fire to Chris, for trying to hurt Nettie, for hiring Luke McMasters. Vin wished for a moment that he could just shoot the bastard himself and be done with it. 

It was just a moment of distraction, but enough that he didn't have his gun drawn when McMasters fired into the dirt at Pony's feet, making the horse skip away and messing up Chris's draw as he tried to bring Pony back under control. Royal got knocked aside by the scared horse and stumbled out into the open. McMasters took aim again, but before he could fire a second shot, Ezra shot McMasters right in the heart. Vin guessed so anyway from the way he crumpled and fell so quick, a look of shock all on his face. As sudden as the excitement had started it was all over when McMasters hit the ground, the sudden, shocking quiet broken only by the cries of a flock of grouse flushed by the noise.

Vin considered pumping another few rounds into McMasters, for the Browers sake and because he couldn't shoot Royal. He was moving to do so, jacking a cartridge into the chamber, when Chris put a hand on his arm. "Vin. Save your bullets." 

Vin froze for a long moment, gun pointed at McMasters's ruined chest, breathing hard, before he nodded and slowly holstered his gun. "It was too easy. I just wanted to make it a little harder for him," he said, by way of explanation.

"I know. Me too," Chris said, then he gestured to Nathan, who dismounted and walked to the body, Royal's men parting to let him pass without threat or hindrance. 

Nathan examined the dead man for a few moments then looked up at them all with a serious expression and a slow nod. "He's gone alright." Josiah dismounted and took a spare blanket from the back of his horse over to Nathan.

"We're taking him with us," Chris said to Royal, who waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and turned back toward the house. 

Before he'd taken more than a step or two, Ezra said, casually, "You are not the first to have thought there was silver on Pinwheel Mountain, Mr. Royal." Royal stopped and cocked his head to listen. "I sincerely doubt that you will be the last. But I assure you that I have investigated that situation thoroughly. If there'd been any evidence of a genuine silver lode on that hill, you'd have been fighting an army of gunmen for it. Not a couple of homesteaders. My army, Mr. Royal. I investigated those rumors thoroughly as soon as I arrived here, and found nothing."

Royal turned around to look at him, a smug grin on his face. "I've got..."

"I know precisely what you have and what you were told, but Kansas City is the origin of your treasure, Mr. Royal, not Pinwheel Mountain," Ezra said, casually cradling his derringer in his ringed hand. "I advise you to consider that." 

Royal's smug look fell away, leaving a nasty grimace of anger. "I'll kill him," he shouted, turning to one of his men. "Get my horse."

Ezra held his hand up, and raised a scornful eyebrow, "And admit he bested you? Mr. Royal, I'm certain you can see the folly of that, or do you need me to spell it out for you." 

Royal's fists clenched and he took a couple of hard steps toward the barn, then he turned back to them, sneered, and waved them all away. "Just get! And take McMasters body with you."

Nathan stood and gestured toward the window and the foreman, struggling to his feet inside. "Your man there needs someone to see to his wounds. You want me to..." 

"I want you to get the hell off my property!" Royal shouted, then stomped back into his house, bumping into Nathan and Josiah who were lifting the wrapped body between them as he passed. 

***

"So how'd you figure out what Conn Greene was trying to pull so fast, Ezra?" Buck asked when they were riding back to town. Vin was in his usual place a horse length or two ahead of the rest, but the morning was quiet and they were walking along easy. The only person waiting on their return was Mrs. Brower, and nothing anyone did could give her her husband back. There wasn't no harm in making her wait half an hour for the threadbare comfort she'd get from seeing his killer's body.

Ezra, sounding smug, said, "I heard the rumor about silver in that hill almost as soon as I arrived in our fair town, long before making the acquaintance of any of you fine gentlemen. Whiskey does a fine job of loosening men's tongues." 

"How come you haven't dug up that whole mountain looking for it?" JD asked. 

"It was never my intention to mine for it myself, JD," Ezra said, with a mocking laugh. "I intended to purchase it and sell at a considerable profit. But two things became clear almost immediately. The first was that no one had ever actually seen silver from that hill. The second was that the people who owned it were aware of the rumors, so I wasn't going to be able to purchase it at the price I'd hoped. In any case, it was patently obvious that the original owner had beaten me to the game by twenty years and started up the story of silver to raise the price of the land."

Josiah snorted and shook his head. "Obvious to someone with a devious mind maybe," he said. Vin looked back over his shoulder to see Ezra's response to that. He was hoping for a smack or a shove, like he would have gotten if he'd said something like that, but Ezra just turned to Josiah with a smile like he'd just gotten a pretty compliment. 

Vin sat back in the saddle with a wince, the twisting having strained both his sore knee and the stitches in his shoulder. Someone came up from behind him at a faster walk and he was afraid for a minute that it was going to be Nathan, insisting on doctoring him some more, but Pony's black head came into view on his right. He relaxed into Chris's presence, nodding to him a greeting and a welcome. 

They rode along in silence, ignoring the chattering behind them, until Vin felt the troubles and anger of the night before pass away. And the morning's soft light and cool breezes brought him a strange contentment. He'd known the feeling before, brought by a warm fire and a full stomach or the knowledge of food stores well stocked for winter. But he'd never found his contentment before in the presence of a person. Apparently, having Chris near was enough to make his heart light, even with the smell of wood smoke still in his clothes and a dead man on the back of JD's horse. 

After a bit Chris looked at him and asked, "Deep thoughts?" 

Vin shrugged then turned to look at him, his skin burnished and gilded by the sunlight, the black of his coat and hat only serving to emphasize the proud lines of his face. Vin's heart caught in his throat and he found himself reaching toward Chris, just to touch. He caught himself before he went too far and turned the move into a grab for his canteen. He took a deep drink, then offered it to Chris. 

After drinking some himself, Chris handed the canteen back, saying, "After we leave McMasters body with the undertaker, I'm going to be heading out to my cabin." Vin nodded without looking at him, feeling a pinch of disappointment, but Chris went on, "Want to come stop with me for a day or two? You look like a man who could use some peace and quiet." 

Vin couldn't help himself from smiling, and he turned to look at Chris, who looked back at him with a warm smile on his face too. Vin nodded, unsure of his voice, then turned back forward. After a while, he said, "I'd like that, Chris, if you're sure I wouldn't be troubling you none."

Chris's smile never wavered, but his voice was serious when he said, "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want you there." 

Things in town took longer than Vin expected or hoped, but there were people they needed to talk to and things they needed to do. After leaving McMasters with the undertaker and leaving the others in the saloon, Chris made a couple of stops in the general store and the hardware store while Vin gathered some supplies from his wagon, then they both dropped in on Mary Travis. It sat poorly with Vin, with all of them, that they'd had to leave Guy Royal behind, knowing he'd hired McMasters. Mary promised to wire the judge with information about the situation, but she doubted that he'd be able to issue a warrant for Royal with the only man who could, or would, speak against him dead. Chris and Mary'd argued about that for a while, until Vin got tired of standing and found himself a seat out on the boardwalk.

When Chris emerged a few minutes later, he was fuming as he turned to Vin and snapped, "You ready to go?" 

Vin tilted his head so he could study Chris out of the corner of his eye. "Don't want to impose, Chris." 

Chris looked out across the dusty road at the hotel across the street for a moment, like he was gathering his words, but then said only, "Come on," gesturing with his head toward their horses.

They rode quickly out to the cabin, and Vin had the sense that Chris was racing to get there for some reason. Hurrying toward something, or maybe just hurrying away from the problems of the town. That sat just fine with Vin, who was feeling a little over-burdened with other peoples' troubles himself. He reached to brush a strand of hair out of his eye, causing his shoulder to twinge and ache. Over-burdened and just a mite abused, he thought. Good to have a couple of days away. 

With Chris. Vin smiled.

***

_"There we two, content, happy in being together,  
speaking little, perhaps not a word." -- Walt Whitman, "A Glimpse" _

After settling the horses and eating their supper of stew and beans out on the porch, Chris poured whiskey for both of them. While they sat and watched the sunset turn the sky orange, Chris whittled something from a chunk of wood. After a few minutes it became clear that he was just carving a peg for something. Chris kept working at it long after the peg was shaped, though, rubbing his thumb along the surface, then shaving off a tiny splinter, again and again, until it was smooth. 

By the time Chris gave a grunt of satisfaction and put the knife away, the stars were starting to come out, sparkling against the deep purple sky. He poured another shot for Vin and for himself, tossed his back, then stood. He stopped at the doorway, hand resting on Vin's shoulder for a moment before going inside without a word. 

Vin sipped at his whiskey and listened to the night sounds, the yip-howl of a coyote, the screech of an owl, the chittering of bats. Inside the cabin Chris was making noises too, but Vin didn't put any effort into identifying them. He just let the occasional rasp and clank blend into the night's music. 

Vin pulled out his harmonica and began to play, blowing on it to add his own sounds to the night, stating his presence as surely as the coyote and the owl were stating theirs. He stopped playing for a second when Chris started hammering inside, but went back to it as the hammering went on. 

He didn't ever think about it, but for just a moment he let his playing fall into the cadence of Chris's hammer, such that when Chris stopped he did as well. 

"Come on in," Chris said from the doorway. 

Vin finished his whiskey, then stepped into cabin's one room. The only lamp was on a table next to the bed, which was covered with a new quilt, the colors still bright. Vin tilted his head in that direction and Chris said, "Mrs. Potter gave it to me when I started building this place. Said it was a house-warming gift. Ain't used it before." 

Vin bent down to get his bedroll, but Chris's hand on his arm stopped him. "You don't have to sleep on the floor unless you want to, Vin," he said, his voice serious. 

Vin stood back up and his eyes searched Chris's face, confused. "Chris?" he asked softly, trying to puzzle through what Chris's words really meant. He had trouble imagining that Chris wanted more than what they already had between them, friendship and kinship and just that deep knowing. He wanted it, wanted everything he could have, but he just couldn't credit that Chris might also. No way to know but by asking, he figured, so he looked over at the bed and asked, "You offering just sleep or more?" 

Chris stepped right up to him, so that their chests were almost touching, and said, "As much more as you want." 

Vin looked deep in Chris's eyes as he said, "Ain't no limits on what I want of you, Larabee. Not today, not ever. You'd best be sure..." 

Chris put his hands on Vin's cheeks and leaned in, whispering across Vin's lips, "I'm sure. I meant it last night when I said I want to be at your side for as long as I can be. The rest of my life and yours." He leaned in and brought their lips together.

Vin wasn't precisely surprised by the kiss itself, but he didn't expect to respond so strongly to the tender roughness of Chris's lips and the taste of whiskey and smoke. Didn't expect it to feel like he had a new skin covering him, aware of the press of Chris's fingers against his cheeks, the heat of Chris's groin against his through their trousers, the weave of his shirt where their chests pressed together. He gasped, overwhelmed by sensation, then moaned when Chris slipped his tongue into his mouth and wrapped his hands in Vin's hair. 

Vin groaned with the new sensation, and wrapped his arms around Chris, taking in the solid feel of him, real and substantial. He pressed the ridge of his cock into the hollow of Chris's groin, even that pleasure unexpected and vibrant.

Chris backed out of their kiss. "Strip, now, before I rip your clothes off," he said, his voice a growl and his eyes smoldering hot. He untangled his hands from Vin's hair slowly, reluctantly, and stepped back and started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. He licked his lips, then licked them again more slowly, and the darkening of his eyes made Vin's blood heat.

Vin nodded and stripped off his own clothes, keeping his eyes averted. If he'd let himself stop to look at Chris he'd never have been able to concentrate enough to work his buttons and his belt buckle. Once he was naked, his clothes a pile on the floor he set his gunbelt down on the bedside table though it seemed awfully far away if he needed to get to it right quick. 

While his hand was still on it, Chris touched him and pointed to a new peg on the wall on the other side of the bed. The peg he'd whittled so carefully after dinner. "You can hang it there," he said, casually, then hung his own belt on the older peg over the bedside table. 

Vin walked around the bed to do so, feeling shy again. It didn't seem that it meant much to Chris, that little peg, but it did to him. A permanent welcome to be here. A permanent place. He smiled as he hung his belt on it. and looked at Chris, now naked as well and lying on the bed with an arm extended. Naked and hard and inviting Vin into bed.

With a moan of pleasure, Vin accepted the invitation. 

***

When Vin woke the next morning, his heart jumped when he realized he was alone in an unfamiliar bed. But his waking stretch reminded him both of his injuries and of the feel of Chris's body rubbing against his and he calmed, smiling, when he remembered where he was and how he'd gotten there. The room was still mostly dark and wondered what it might mean that Chris had gotten up, but before the question could gnaw at him, Chris said, "Hope I didn't wake you," from somewhere across the cabin.

Vin rolled onto his side, so he could see the entire room, the sheets sliding pleasantly over his naked skin. "Don't rightly know what woke me," he said, rubbing his eyes so he could see more clearly in the dim lamplight. 

Chris was sitting by the door in his union suit reading from the green book Vin'd seen in town. He marked his place with a red ribbon, then stood and walked back to the bed.

As Chris walked toward him, his union suit half unbuttoned and loose, but still covering him where it mattered, Vin pulled the sheets up over his chest feeling very bare in comparison. When he got to the bed, Chris took the covers and slid them down again with a gentle hand. "Don't. I like to see you," he said, the hunger in his voice belying the soft touch. 

He set the book down on the table and shrugged out of his union suit, leaving him naked and perfect to Vin's eyes. His broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips and lean strong legs and his cock swayed as he moved. Vin swallowed hard and reached for him, sure that he would never get used to the idea that he was free to touch just because he wanted to. Chris shivered when Vin caressed his flank and Vin moved toward him, wanting to feel more of the connection they'd shared the night before. 

Chris leaned down and kissed him deep and hard then pulled away with a hand on Vin's chest, saying, "God, Vin, I do love the way you feel." He walked around to climb in the bed from the other side, then lay down next to Vin, arm around his waist, holding him close and still. 

They lay there like that for a moment, enjoying the closeness and the feel of skin on skin, then Vin asked, "So what woke you up?"

"Wanted to find something in that book," Chris said, looking over Vin's shoulder at the book on the table. "Something I read the other day." 

Vin moved closer to Chris, so that he was filled with his scent, smoky and spicy and dark, and warmed by his heat. He pressed a kiss to Chris's chest, just over his breast bone and asked, "Night John Brower died?" 

Chris sighed. "Yeah. And then again when you were at Nettie's," he said, thoughtful. 

He didn't say anything further for a while and Vin let his hand trail along Chris's side, taking idle pleasure in tracing the shape of his muscles and bones.

After a couple of minutes, Chris said, "It's a book of poetry I bought for Sarah but never got to give..." His voice broke and Vin squeezed his shoulder in comfort. When Chris went on his voice was stronger, "Don't know she'd have liked it much now I've read it. When I read it the other day, I couldn't help but think of you. Tried not to, but..." Chris stroked Vin's cheek for a moment, thinking, then reached over him for the book.

He rolled onto his back and opened the book as Vin rested his head on Chris' shoulder. Chris looked over the page for a second then read, "...For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night, In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined toward me, And his arm lay lightly around my breast -- and that night I was happy." 

*** Epilogue ***

After that night Chris and Vin fell into an easy rhythm of spending a night or two at the cabin followed by a few nights in town. So easy, they'd never needed to talk again about what they were doing or what it meant. It just was, real and good as the sunrise and the desert breezes. 

A few weeks later, Vin sat on a barrel and leaned back against the wheel of his wagon, looking along the street. The sky was just getting light and Vin was enjoying the first cup of Mrs. Hudson's coffee. It'd be stronger later, when the grounds had time to really boil, but this was hot and sweet. In a little while the town would be a bustle of movement, the day would really underway, but he liked this time between dawn and activity. He recognized Chris's footsteps on the boardwalk and gestured with his coffee cup to a crate next to him. 

Chris sat down and, after a spell, said, "I never used to see the dawn. It's nice." His voice was quiet and dreamy and Vin wondered a little about what he was thinking. 

"Be nice if town were always this quiet," Vin said, his own voice kept low, not wanting to disturb the peace. 

Chris nodded, thoughtfully. "We'd be out of a job." He took a sip of his coffee. "But maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing." He leaned back against the side of the wagon, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. 

They sat watching the town wake up together, quietly enjoying each other and the morning. After a time, when the hitching posts were crowded with horses and the streets filled with people going about their business, Buck walked by, what was likely his own first cup of coffee in hand. "Mornin'," he said, cheerful and smiling. "You boys heard the news?"

Vin looked up at him, pushing his hat back so he could see. "Heard from Mrs. Hudson that Rafferty's dairy bull smashed through their fence yesterday. They found him sowing his wild oats two farms away." 

Buck grinned. "Lucky ol' dog,” he said with an envious leer. "That ain't the news I mean, though. The Browers are having a barn-raising this weekend." He beamed like it was his own good news. Chris sat up straighter next to Vin and Vin didn't need to look at him to know there was a pleased smile on his face.

"Mrs. Brower decided to stay then?" Chris asked, leaning forward. They'd all been concerned about what would happen to the Browers and where they'd go if they'd left. Mary had been adamant that they should remain in Four Corners, but Mrs. Brower hadn't been sure about staying in the place where her husband had been killed, even if his murderer was dead. 

"Well, Conn Greene and his family left town for good on the stage last week," Buck said. "I think that made the decision a lot easier for her." 

Vin nodded, pleased with their decision, but still thoughtful. Even without a constant reminder of their loss living a mile or two away, running a ranch was an awful lot of work for a woman and a half-grown boy to take on; they'd need a lot of help from the town to make a go of it. "Well, I'll be there. Maybe with a few rabbits to feed people as come out to help," he offered, happy to help good folks get back on their feet. Happy to keep people like the Browers in the area. 

"Mrs. Potter's bringing some tomatoes and squash from her garden and Nettie said she'd make an apple pie," Buck said, rubbing his stomach with a big smile. 

Vin leaned toward Chris, slouching comfortably against the wagon wheel again, bumping with his shoulder, and said, "Umple pies," thinking of what Chris had told him that day under the old oak tree. He was trying to wake a happy memory but instead of smiling, Chris's face went hazy and sad. Vin regretted his mistake, but there was no way to take it back. No way even to comfort him with Buck standing right there.

Buck blinked in surprise for a second or two, then smiled and said, "Oh, hell, yeah, I hadn't thought about Sarah's umple pies in a long time. Those were the best damned apple pies I ever had." He shook his head, then said, "Ain't no way Nettie's are going to be that good." 

Chris's voice was strange, like it was coming from far away, as he said, "Won't be like it was." The words stung in ways that Vin didn't expect, but before he could pull away, Chris went on, a smile like dawnlight on his face and in his voice, "But different don't meant it won't be good."


End file.
